


Keeping Up With the O'Connells

by julesbby



Category: The Mummy (1999), The Mummy Returns (2001), The Mummy Series
Genre: Gen, Period-Typical Homophobia, Slang
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-27
Updated: 2021-01-27
Packaged: 2021-03-13 05:55:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29023821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/julesbby/pseuds/julesbby
Summary: During the ending events of The Mummy Returns, Evy and Rick have a flash of compassion and rescue Imhotep from the gaping jaws of hell itself. Since then, the former High Priest has integrated himself into the O'Connell household, with some degree of success.
Relationships: Alex O'Connell/Rick O'Connell, Anck Su Namun/Imhotep, Ardeth Bay/Rick O'Connell, Evy Carnahan O'Connell/Rick O'Connell, Imhotep/Alex O'Connell, Imhotep/Evy Carnahan O'Connell, Imhotep/Rick O'Connell
Comments: 9
Kudos: 31





	Keeping Up With the O'Connells

**Author's Note:**

> This was prompted by a few wonderful souls who requested this fanfic, on a Mummy Memeposting group on Facebook. Do with this what you will.

_From the day Mrs. Harrison had seen the strange bald man walk into the home of her employers, she’d been highly suspicious of their explanation for his presence. As housekeeper, she expected to be kept up to date on all house inhabitants, and she never quite believed their story of Rick’s long-lost ‘Uncle Frederick.’ Especially considering he was barely older than Mr. O’Connell himself. But Mrs. Harrison kept these thoughts to herself, even as the man proved to be quite the trial._

Evy Carnahan O’Connell didn’t know what had possessed her to stride toward that great chasm where the hands of the dead pulled at her long-time enemy. The man who looked so defeated, so broken, when the woman that proclaimed to love him across the span of centuries had stared him down with cold black eyes...and run in the other direction.

Rick was hot on her heels, of course. “Um, Evy? Hun? Now’s not the time for noble sacrifice!” He tugged at her sleeve, gesturing toward the exit with a jerk of his thumb.

“We can’t leave him, Rick! He didn’t ask for any of this!”

A stalactite snapped loose from the ceiling of the chamber and shattered on the floor at their feet, causing the O’Connell’s to leap apart. Evy’s dark eyes were intense as she stared at her husband. “I’m doing this, so you can help me or you can go.”

Imhotep, who had only moments before seemed willing to let himself be pulled into the pit of Hell, had a glimmer of hope flash in his eyes. His fingers clawed at the stone tiles, the muscles in his arms bulging out with the strain. When death and betrayal seemed inevitable, it was only right to simply give up the proverbial ghost. But when a lifeline was thrown his way, he was not about to pass by the opportunity to live.

And so Rick, with a rasping groan of irritation, helped his wife pull their sworn enemy, High Priest Imhotep who twice tried to bring his curse of ruin upon the world, from the grip of Tartarus. Even though they passed the threshold of the chamber in which they’d found the Scorpion King, Anubis did not see fit to restore Imhotep’s powers, leaving him as only slightly more than a mortal.

In the four years that had passed since, the O’Connells had somehow banded together to help their strange new house guest find his feet in their new world. Alex, having been the one to most recently learn phonics, was instrumental in teaching the ancient Egyptian to speak, read, and write English. This resulted in more than a few screaming matches. As it turned out, however, Imhotep, now known as Uncle Fred in public, was quite handy with arithmetic and other mathematics subjects. He and Alex were beginning their work on Algebra now.

On the fateful day of the fifteenth of September, 1937, the O’Connell household received a phone call in the early afternoon. Evy was at the British Museum, going over some new exhibit for the Egyptology department. Rick was...well, it was hard to say. But out, somewhere. Possibly bailing out Jonathan, who had phoned for bail money just that morning. Mrs. Harrison would usually have answered the phone, but Imhotep happened to be seated in an armchair in the parlor right next to the thing. He jumped as it let out its ghastly wail, flipping the book he was reading out of his hands and tumbling to land face first on the floor. “What?!” He spat in Ancient Egyptian as he snatched the phone out of its cradle. Then corrected himself, “What?!” In English, no less harsh.

“Mr. O’Connell,” purred an older woman’s voice from the receiver. “We need you to come retrieve your son.”

Imhotep, Fred, scowled at the phone. His accented English was fluent by now. “Rick is out at the moment. Can the boy not stay at school?”

“I’m afraid not. He was in a rather bloody fight and his school clothes are in need of some repair. Is Mrs. O’Connell there, Mr…” She trailed off, waiting.

He sighed, rubbing his temple in irritation. “This is...Frederick O’Connell. The boy’s...uncle.” Imhotep was still annoyed by the ongoing deception, but he’d learned to lean into the role.

“Well, Mr. O’Connell,” the woman sniffed primly. “Someone will have to come for him. Perhaps you can come fetch Alex yourself?”

The back of Imhotep’s head hit the padded back of the seat behind him and he stifled a groan. His fingers rubbed across his brows, eyes closed but with the phone still pressed to his ear. The woman had begun to ask if he was still there, if their connection was still good, when he finally snapped “I will be there in half an hour.”

For this reason, his acquiescence to that school woman’s nonsensical demands, Imhotep was forced to seek out Mrs. Harrison. He had yet to learn to drive those gods-cursed modern chariots called “automobiles.” He had absolutely no intention of doing so. And he knew there was some way of calling for one to come pick you up. But Imhotep lacked the knowledge to manage it himself. The former high priest stood up out of the arm chair and smoothed down his white cotton shirt. He had scandalized the housekeeper more than once when he’d first arrived by wandering around the house in his usual state of undress. This had quickly changed during his first English winter. These English Puritans and their shame over the human form would never make sense to him.

He managed to track down Mrs. Harrison, once again internally bemoaning the loss of his powers, in the upstairs bathroom where she was putting away linens.

“Ah, Mrs. Harrison.” It was possibly the first time he’d addressed her in need of something.

The woman’s severe dress and irritable demeanor did her no favors. She was clearly being stifled by these backward English ways. Luckily for Imhotep, he had learned not to say these things to people before he’d become fluent in English, and his faux pas had been laughed off as a misunderstanding of the language.

She obviously did not care for him, nor he for her, but today he required her help.

Grasping his hands behind his back, Uncle Fred’s lilting Egyptian accent came out smooth as honey. “Mrs. Harrison?” He stepped into the tiled room, where he towered over the little woman.

She scowled up at him, her dark auburn brows not yet showing the streaks of silver that had begun in her rich red hair. “What is it, Mr. O’Connell?” She sighed, shoving a stack of washcloths under the sink.

He bit off a reply that would have sealed her death in another life, another time. His smile was thin as he replied. “Could you be bothered to send for a car for me?”

Her stare could have withered steel. But the smile that she pasted on after the initial disbelief was drenched in honey. “Of course, sir. Let me just get that for you.” Her tone was just shy of aggressive. Imhotep had to quash the old arrogance and entitlement that welled up inside of him as she pushed past him to leave the room. It was a constant battle within himself, one that had caused a number of physical altercations during his early days here.

But the O’Connells had taken him in with no reason to do so, in fact many reasons to leave him to rot. So he made an effort. And over time, with effort, a strange fondness grew for the O’Connell boy. It seemed as they bonded, Imhotep’s relations with Rick and Evy became less strained as well. Under Rick’s tutelage, he learned to make basic foods for himself, and eventually surpassed his teacher. Now most of their evening meals were made by the resident house-priest.

It was a short time later, fully dressed with his shoes, jacket, and broad-brimmed fedora hat that Imhotep stood waiting by the front door as the black London cab pulled up. He tugged the lapels of his jacket straight, patted his wallet in his pocket, and stepped out the front door. The pocket-pat was almost subconscious, a little something he’d picked up in 4 years of watching Rick do it almost daily. At which point Evy would toss him his wallet from where he’d left it on the upstairs banister. Every. Day.

Upon arrival at Alex’s school, Imhotep lamented the lack of English originality and creativity in their architecture. Another drab grey box, just like every other drab grey box in London. He sneered up at the equally drab, grey sky before making his way inside the schoolhouse.

He was greeted by the impertinent young woman he’d spoken to on the phone, at the front desk. She seemed stunned by his appearance, her eyes sweeping up to his rather imposing height. He flipped his hat off his head and made a small nod of acknowledgement. “I am here for the boy.”

She seemed dazed, standing up from her desk to reveal a rather enjoyably plump figure. What? The love of his life may have abandoned him, but he was still a man. “Ummm….which boy was that, Mr…?” She batted dark gold lashes at him.

Imhotep’s fierce expression softened by the tiniest modicum. “Alex O’Connell. I am his Uncle, Frederick O’Connell.” The name still stuck in his craw a bit, but Imhotep meant Bringer of Peace, and he’d settled for Frederick for the similar meaning.

“Right this way, Mr. O’Connell. The Headmaster will want to see you.”

Imhotep almost groaned aloud.

But he followed the woman down a hallway to a dingy little office, where an older woman sat behind a typewriter. A cigarette lay smoking in the ashtray near her nicotine-stained left hand. To her left, seated one of four chairs lining a shabby wood-paneled wall, was Alex O’Connell. He had grown since Imhotep had kidnapped and nearly killed the boy, and was probably going to shoot up over the next summer. His mop of golden blonde hair was tousled and muddy in patches. The boy stared down at his shoes, and Imhotep could see blood on his knuckles.

Imhotep slipped a hand under Alex’s jaw and pushed they boy’s face up to look at him. A swollen purple bruise was spreading across one cheekbone, and the eye was swelling up as well. Imhotep grinned at him and in Egyptian exclaimed “Little warrior! You made the gods proud today!”

Alex understood him and beamed, but the two ladies in the office exchanged nervous glances. Imhotep turned to face the older woman. “We can go now, yes?”

She shook her head and jabbed the cigarette toward the door on the opposite wall. “Headmaster Lancaster wants to see ye.” She snarled in their direction, never looking up from her typewriter.

Imhotep heaved an impatient sigh and strode across the room, flinging open the door and startling the man inside. He too, was grey and dingy, much like the school he ran. Imhotep announced himself. “I am Frederick O’Connell, and I am told you wish to speak about my nephew’s skirmish.”

The jumpy little man reminded Imhotep of the Jerboa, a small jumping rodent he’d seen often in his first life. “Ah, yes.” He stuttered. “Please come in and be seated, both of you.”

Imhotep ushered Alex into the office and closed the door shut behind them. He stood behind the boy’s chair, statuesque and imposing. “What is this about?”

The Headmaster jabbed a pencil toward Alex. “Master O’Connell is brash and impulsive, and I am informed that he started the fight this afternoon during the children’s recess.”

Alex, never one to stand for being falsely accused, blurted out “Nuh uh! Nathan Tansy called me a poof for spending so much time at the British museum!”

Imhotep stared at the Headmaster in indignation. “Well why isn’t this other boy also being brought in here to be questioned like disobedient slave?”

The Headmaster looked aghast at this comparison. “Well the other boy w-w-wasn’t the one-” he swallowed hard as Imhotep folded his arms across his chest. Headmaster Lancaster straightened his bowtie and seemed to compose himself. “Master O’Connell threw the first punch, and that is what matters.”

Imhotep actually spat in derision. “Pah! My nephew defended his honor. Come, Alex, we are leaving now. If this is the kind of thing that happens at this school, maybe we will not come back.” He collected Alex, and left the poor Headmaster sputtering in his own office, calling after them not to do anything rash. The O’Connells were fairly wealthy, and losing Alex’s tuition would not be good for his pocketbook.

Alex scrambled to collect his things from where they’d been piled next to his chair before hurrying after his Uncle Frederick. Here closer to central London, it was easier to find a cab, which Alex flagged down for them. As they climbed into the back seat and slammed the door behind them, Alex grinned up at the strange man who was now a part of the family. “Mum and dad are gonna be SO pissed at you.”


End file.
